


you're amazing just the way you are

by phae



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Established Relationship, M/M, Panic Attacks, Trans Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-15
Updated: 2015-02-15
Packaged: 2018-03-12 23:52:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,593
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3359942
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/phae/pseuds/phae
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Phil Coulson is probably going to be the best thing to ever happen to Clint Barton.</p>
            </blockquote>





	you're amazing just the way you are

**Author's Note:**

> Prompted by Anon on tumblr for: Prompt 1 (First binder/bra/underthing) of the Transvengers list clint/phil?
> 
> Title is from Bruno Mars' _Just the Way You Are_ , obvi.

Phil Coulson is probably going to be the best thing to ever happen to Clint Barton. Clint’s got no idea how, after a lifetime—short as his has been—of nothing but the Universe smacking him with the short end of the stick, he was lucky enough to attract the attention of a guy as awesome as Phil.

 

Because Phil is the closest thing to perfection that humans are ever likely to become, so far as Clint’s concerned. He’s sweet and cute and a huge dork who actually laughs at Clint’s jokes, and, despite being seventeen and male, he has never once tried to push for anything more physical in their relationship than Clint has offered.

 

It’s not that Clint doesn’t want that—the getting physical, thing. It’s just that, well—he’s a boy, okay? He is. He just didn’t come built like one.

 

Puberty was such an unbelievably shitty time in his life, and even with all the gross things happening to his body that he just wanted to _stop,_ there was still a mass of hormones raging inside, making him horny and leaving him craving close contact. Finding willing participants wasn’t a problem—he’s charming when he feels like trying and it’s not like he’s hideous or anything—but his lack of a package threw even Tasha off at first, even though she did her best not to show it.

 

And the older he gets, the worse it is, because his biology insists on continuing to fuck him over. No matter how tight he wraps his chest, his goddamn boobs keep growing. And despite the strict diet he sticks to, his hips keep getting rounder, his thighs thicker. So he tucks up what he can, wears a ridiculous amount of layers even in the summer, and always sits with a practiced slouch that keeps his frame looking as masculine as possible. His voice won't drop on its own, so his throat is sore more often than not from trying to adopt a faux tenor.

 

But Phil—Phil might actually get it, may even be okay with it. Clint’s barely known him eight months, but he’s never seen anything phase Phil Coulson.

 

Hell, Stark nearly burnt the school to the ground when his pet project robot got out of control, and while everyone else was screaming or cheering the flames on, Phil had just walked over to where Stark was kneeling on the ground sorting through the smashed remains of his robot and helped him collect the salvageable pieces.

 

Clint had asked him about it later, why he didn’t tear Stark a new one for endangering the whole student body with his experiments, and Phil had just looked so confused that Clint was even asking. “They’re his friends. Something went wrong with the coding or whatever and things got out of hand, yeah, but do you really think anybody was more hurt by what happened than Stark?”

 

So, yeah. Clint’s kind of banking that Phil will honestly take him—all of him—as he is, but he’s not ready to test that theory just yet. You know, on the slight, _itty bitty_ chance that he’s like every other person Clint’s tried to date.

 

All that is to say, Clint walks through the school hallways on Friday morning to his locker with what could loosely be described as a skip in his step because he has a date with Phil after school. Date Days are the very best days since there’s nearly a 100% chance that they end with Phil leaning over the console in his car to kiss Clint goodnight. No wandering hands, no angling innuendo, and somehow Phil manages to look so incredibly fond and adorable when they pull apart, like he’s totally content with everything about their relationship even though some chaste kissing is as far as things have gotten. Date Days with Phil never end with Clint’s stomach all twisted in knots, feeling guilty for not being comfortable with getting all up in each other’s business yet.

 

Clint stops at his locker and whistles the opening bars to _Timber_ as he deftly spins the tumbler. The door swings open, and sitting innocuously on top of his textbooks is a present wrapped in shiny purple paper.

 

Something eerily close to a swarm of butterflies abruptly takes flight in Clint’s stomach, and he has to chew on his bottom lip to reign in a dopey grin. There’s only one other student with access to his locker because exchanging combos at this school is like handing over your letterman jacket.

 

Clint shrugs off his backpack and lets it drop to the floor, reaching in to pull out the present and rip a corner free from the tape. He uncovers a plain cardboard box, a shipping label still stuck on the front and—yup, addressed to Phil.

 

Clint has the best boyfriend _ever_.

 

The packing tape is harder to get through, but Clint finally gets a box panel free and pulls out all the paper stuffed inside to keep whatever it is from bouncing around during transit. The paper, brown and boring, falls down onto his bag and Clint gets a hold of the present inside, pulling it out to find—

 

Logically, Clint knows that there are students all around, that there should be all kinds of noise filling his ears, but there’s just the sound of his heart kicking into overdrive as the world falls away. Clint’s not even sure if he’s still breathing, and oh—he isn’t, actually. He should do that. Breathe. In and out. That’s how breathing works, right?

 

Clint’s not really sure anymore, ‘cause that’s a binder in the box. Phil got him a _binder_ , which he would only get Clint if he knew that Clint had a reason to wear one.

 

That’s about the point where everything stops existing except for the terrified mantra running through his head: _Phil knows. Phil knows. PhilknowsPhilknowsPhilknows._

 

“Shit. Okay, you weren’t supposed to beat me here.”

 

Phil (who _knows_ ) is standing in front of him suddenly, taking the box out of Clint’s hands to put it back in his locker and rubbing gentle hands up and down Clint’s arms. “Clint? You’re having a panic attack. I need you to focus on your breathing, okay? Deep breathe in, then just let it all out—”

 

And Clint’s just doing as Phil says, so it’s not his fault when he croaks, “What the ever-loving _fuck_?”

 

Phil’s forehead is all wrinkled and his mouth is turned down in worry, which is just wrong because Phil’s face should never be a frowny face; his smile’s just too cute for that. “I’m so sorry, Clint. I should have kept it in my bag. You weren’t supposed to open it before I could explain. But then I started thinking about the look on your face when you opened your locker and there was a present inside, and I couldn’t resist—”

 

“ _Why_?”

 

“Huh?" Phil's pulled out of his string of babble by Clint's rasping voice, and it takes him a moment to redirect his thoughts. "Oh. Well, I, uh. You know how I get when I’m researching stuff—I go overboard and print out everything so that I can highlight all the relevant parts. But that’s, uh, not what you were asking." Distantly, Clint notes that this is usually the part in a Phil-ramble where his hands start talking along with his mouth, but he's still touching Clint, still holding him in place, right there in the hall even though the bell rang a second ago. "It’s just, I got worried, because I read this article about the dangers of wrapping with ace bandages, and there were _pictures_ , and I maybe got ahead of myself. I probably should have just talked to you about it first, but I didn’t want to mention a problem without a solution at the ready, so I went ahead and ordered the binder.”

 

Clint shakes his head since Phil won't let him shake his hands off of his shoulders. “But—you knew? How did you know?”

 

“About the bandages? They’re everywhere. You keep spares in your bag. And your locker. And there’s usually one in your hoodie pocket—”

 

Clint wants to pull away, but he can't, so he drops his head instead. Phil can still see him, sure, but he can't see Phil. Except for Phil's shoes, but they're alright. They're just canvas shoes with Bat Signals painted on them. “Not—uh, okay yeah, _that_. But, the reason, behind the, uh, _wrapping_.”

 

“Yes?” Phil answers, but he draws it out like an uncertain question.

 

“And you don’t—” Clint has to stop and swallow forcefully when the words scratch their way out of his throat. “You don’t care?”

 

Phil looks baffled. “Why would I care?”

 

“Because I don’t—I’m not—”

 

Phil's hands slide down Clint's arms until Phil's holding his hands, linking their fingers together and squeezing tight. “You’re Clint. And I like _you_. Clint." Phil smiles, that one that usually only shows up after they kiss, before his expression snaps back to worried again. "But I’m still really concerned about the long-term effects of you wrapping your chest with those bandages, so would you maybe consider switching to a binder? If I need to, I can show you the pictures. I put together a quick PowerPoint Presentation—”

 

Clint falls forward, right into Phil even though that smashes their chests together, and hugs Phil’s waist for all he’s worth because Phil Coulson is the best thing that is ever going to happen to Clint Barton.


End file.
